


Prompt Fills

by AgentCoop



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Come Swallowing, M/M, POV Max, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: 1. Eiji/Sing and Begging***No Archive Warnings Apply***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I'll be hosting all of my prompt fills from folks! Some are vanilla, some are explicit, some are extremely dark. I'll be warning at the beginning of each 'chapter' for major archive tags.
> 
> If you want to request a Banana Fish prompt, [click here](https://curiouscat.me/agentcoop1/)  
> 

“Sit down.”

“Sing, I…I’m not sure,” Eiji mumbled, his tongue foreign and thick in his mouth.

Sing just smiled, an infinitely bright thing in the deep blackness of their living room. “D’you trust me?”

“I…”

“Do you trust me, Eiji?” Sing reached down and grabbed a hold of Eiji’s left hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed along the knuckles of his fingers. 

Eiji closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said with a sigh.

“Sit down,” Sing whispered again, no less commanding, but gentle and sweet and profoundly innocent.

Eiji backed up to the kitchen chair that Sing had placed directly in the middle of the room, then sat. His eyes never left Sing, and he watched as the boy he’d grown into an adult with licked his lips in an intoxicating, wanton display of need. 

Sing stepped forward, pulling something out of the pocket of his jeans, and then straddled Eiji. The weight was impossibly full of desire and Eiji leaned forward to press his lips against Sing’s, but Sing just shook his head. 

“Not yet,” he whispered. Then he held up the piece of cloth he’d pulled out. “Yes or no?”

Eiji was silent a moment. His thighs trembled under Sing’s weight and he wanted more than anything to listen to the way Sing breathed his name against his ear, to rub against Sing’s warmth, to be held by powerful arms and feel safe, feel secure, feel like for once his entire being wasn’t in danger of shattering. “Yes,” he murmured, then went still as Sing tied the blindfold around his eyes. 

“Hold on to the arms of the chair,” Sing whispered.

There it was. That tongue against the shell of his ear. Eiji moaned with it, a soft, delicate thing that burst from inside his chest. 

“Hold on,” Sing said again. “And don’t move.”

Eiji wrapped his palms around the oiled wooden armrests, and gripped. Sing ducked down and made quick work of his pants, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly, and pressing delicate fingers against the hard lines of Eiji’s abdomen.

This was something he was proud of. There had been so much pain, and so much loss, and so much fear for life, yet in running, he’d found a simple release of energy that smoothed over the craggy, pockmarked remnants of his soul. Sing had laughed at first, but as Eiji had gone longer and longer, and as Eiji’s nightmares had dissipated into filmy mist during the darkness of night, he’d begun to understand. They’d started running together. This was a silent thing they shared—they both ran from different demons—but as they lost their baby fat, and slowly their bodies learned the long, lean lines of distance runners, they’d begun to live again.

Sing’s breath was hot against the thin patch of hair that trailed from Eiji’s navel down to his hardening cock. A hand came away from the armrest, desperate for touch, for friction.

“No,” Sing said, and pushed against his hand.

This command was stone and it sent a shiver of lust through his entire being. He gripped the chair harder, pressing lines into his palms.

Sing kissed along his belly, down to his inner thigh, short puffs of air from his nose tickling along the base of Eiji’s erection. Then Sing swallowed him, taking him deeply, and Eiji gasped.

Sing’s head came up just as quickly, leaving Eiji panting in the cold, leaving him squirming against the hard wood of the chair. “Quiet, Eiji,” Sing ordered. 

“Please,” Eiji whispered. “More. Please?”

Sing reached up and grabbed a fistful of long black hair, jerking Eiji’s head down to him. “Quiet.” He said. A command. An order. A reminder that here, Eiji didn’t need to feel, didn’t need to think, didn’t need to be anything but Sing’s.

Eiji nodded, as burning in his scalp intensified. 

Just as quickly as he’d violently grabbed, Sing released him, then let his hand drift slowly, gracefully, purposefully down Eiji’s chest and to his impossibly hard cock. Sing’s fingers danced across the sensitive skin there, stroking, touching, sliding easily across the slit, then they let go again and Eiji moaned once more in desperation.

“You like that?” Sing whispered. He rose up, his face close enough to Eiji’s that the tips of their noses touched. 

Eiji could see the barest shadow of silhouette through the thin fabric of the blindfold. He watched as Sing brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean again. “Oh my God, Sing.” Eiji squeezed his eyes closed. “Oh my God, please.” He was painfully hard, he was so close already with nothing but a few touches and whispered words. “I need…I need…”

“Shhhh,” Sing murmured. “Trust me.” 

He bent down again and Eiji gasped with the wetness of Sing’s tongue along thighs, his balls, the base of his cock, travelling along the length. Then Sing swallowed him again, head bobbing with furious motion as his hand squeezed at the base of his cock.

“Oh shit, Sing, oh my God, oh—”

Sing’s hand squeezed even tighter and the pleasure and pain was absolutely unbearable. Eiji was dizzy with it. “Sing, I’m gonna…Sing I’m gonna come, Sing—”

Sing didn’t let up, and as the sounds of his wet mouth echoed through the living room, Eiji came with a yell. Still, Sing kept at it, and Eiji could feel the way his throat moved as he swallowed, and swallowed again, and he moaned with pleasure as Sing kept sucking at his cock, easing every last milky drop of come from him until he was empty and gasping and nothing else was real because everything that mattered was right here in this room.

Sing came off with a liquid pop of noise, and he laughed. This was quiet, and proud, and full of love. He kissed along Eiji’s thigh, and as his hands gripped Eiji’s bare waist, he rose up again.

“You’re beautiful,” Sing said. 

His voice was melody in the darkness.

“I love you,” Eiji replied.


	2. watcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max/Ash | Public Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to request a Banana Fish prompt, [click here](https://curiouscat.me/agentcoop1/)  
> 

“Touch me.”

“I’m sorry?” Max questioned, head jerking up from his desk where he was scribbling in his journal.

“Touch me,” Ash said again, this time more insistent, more desperate, almost otherworldly as he stood there, bathed in the hollow light of the small cell. His dark green eyes gleamed with something sinister, something tangible, something born of lustful desperation. He licked his lips then, and tilted his head invitingly, blond hair grazing the tip of his shoulder. 

Max swallowed. Hard. He turned back to his desk—back to the bottle of bootleg liquor that sat there, proud and dangerous. He popped off the cheap, plastic cap with the pad of his thumb, and then took three very long, very large gulps. It burned going down and this was good. This was necessary. This was still not punishment enough for the raw, naked images that flashed in the darkness every time he closed his eyes.

He put the bottle down with a sharp clatter of sound. The white noise of the jail permeated the air, the jeering, the arguments, the day to day exchanges that kept the men real, and alive, and human. Still, the cell felt silent and oppressive. As though a single breath might be enough to spark an explosion of possibility.

Ash lifted the hem of his white t-shirt and gracefully allowed his fingertips to graze the drawstring of his orange, prison-issued pants. “Well?” he asked.

His fingers danced at the waistband, and Max could see his pale skin start to goosebump in the chill of the cement cell. “This is a bad idea, kid,” he said. Then turned back to his journal and began to write once more.

There was silence for a minute, and then two. Then there was a breath at the back of Max’s neck and he jerked up, leaving a scrawled stain of ink on the page in front of him.

“Max,” Ash whispered in his ear.

His breath was hot and sweet, and Max flinched away at it. “What the hell, Ash. Quit fucking around.”

Ash backed up, lifting his hands and letting the thin white cotton of his t-shirt fall again, as though he were proclaiming his innocence. “Not fucking around,” he said.

His pupils were still blown, his voice was still husky in it’s depth. Max rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. The cell was starting to feel claustrophobic, the air stale, the night fraught with danger. 

“I’m not Griff.” Ash said.

Max froze.

“He told me about you. About how you’d curl up next to him when he’d had a nightmare. About how he’d do the same for you. He told me you tasted like rain, like the sound snow makes as it falls, like the opposite of a barren, heated desert.”

Max was balling up the fabric of his pants underneath white knuckled fists, but Ash only laughed. “He was the poetic one of the two of us. The one who remembered how to dream. The one who was so close to learning the secret of flight.” Ash’s grin fell then, and there was a well of sadness there that was a knife to Max’s heart. 

“Just touch me? Please?” Ash questioned, dark green eyes piercing.

“Ash, I…I don’t know if…if this is a good—”

Ash walked forward and knelt at Max’s feet. He turned the palms of his hands upwards in obeisance and the tilt of his head dropped ever so slightly, as though he were bowing in trust to a king. “May I?” he whispered.

Max groaned, and then nodded. The alcohol was thick and cloying still at the back of his throat, and his head was swimming with it. Ash reached out a hand and pressed his way up Max’s left thigh.

Griffin, his heart called out, but he simply stated “Ash.”

“I want to taste you,” Ash said. It was a simple statement, delivered with a questioning certainty as though he’d just realized what he’d wanted all along. “Let me taste you?”

Ash’s fingers worked at the knot of Max’s pants, and suddenly he was lifting in his seat ever so slightly, helping Ash to pull them down. His cock sprang free, already so painfully hard, so painfully desperate. “Ash,” he whispered again, and Ash paused this time—looked up into Max’s eyes.

“There’s no…” Max tried. He swallowed again. His tongue was too swollen with desire for words. “Privacy, Ash. There’s no—”

“Let them watch,” Ash said. He grinned again then, and this was impossibly indecent, the smile of a beguiling devil, the smile of adolescent confidence. “I want them to feel jealous. I want them to be sick with it.” Then he reached a hand forward and cupped Max’s balls, squeezing just hard enough that it straddled the line between intense pain and intense pleasure. “Oh,” he said, as Max’s cock twitched. “Oh…”

Ash bent forward then and licked along the inner crease of Max’s thigh. He let his tongue pause briefly over Max’s abdomen, circling and kissing and nipping at the tender skin. “God, Ash,” Max moaned. “Oh my God.”

Then Ash swallowed him whole. There was no warning, there was only a time filled with want, and then a time that burst with frenetic desire. Ash’s mouth was so hot and so wet and so soft and he came up for a moment, circling his tongue around the swollen head of Max’s cock. Then he bobbed down again, and Max could feel every clench of his throat as he swallowed, every movement of his tongue, every vibration from each low moan that Ash let slip free.

There was a scratching sound at Max’s ears; possibly the catcalls of some men, certainly yells to keep it fucking down, but his entire world had narrowed down to the wet, slurping sounds that Ash was making at the base of his cock. Ash reached a hand down then, and Max opened his eyes enough to see him palming his own erection through the cotton of his pants. “Take them off,” Max whispered, and Ash obliged, still sucking, still swirling his tongue over delicate flesh. 

Now Ash was stroking his own erection and Max knew he couldn’t possibly hold on much longer—not when Ash started jerking harder, not when Ash started a low growl, deep in his throat, that sang melody and rapture. “Ash,” he groaned, trying to pull back. Ash refused, just scooted forward further on his knees and kept bobbing his head in unceasing rhythm. “Ash, you gotta, I’m gonna—”

Ash moaned then, an uncontrollable thing that escaped around Max’s thick cock, and then Ash jerked forward slightly as thick, white ribbons of warm cum hit Max’s leg, and hit the cement of their cell floor. Max couldn’t hold on any longer. Ash’s hand squeezed tightly against his balls and he swallowed again and again and again as Max whimpered, shaking against the back of his plastic chair.

“Fuck,” he finally sighed, as Ash came off, wiping at his face with the back of his arm.

“Damn, old man,” Ash smirked. “Still got it.”

“Fuck off,” Max said, but it was a lazy, mewling thing, deep in infancy. “Fuck off,” he tried once more but it sounded no more forceful.

Ash just shrugged. “Griff was right. You taste fantastic.”

“Fuck. Off.” Max tried a third time, and this time was almost successful in taking back control of the evening. Still, Ash bent down to pull up his pants, then stepped forward and situated himself on top of Max’s now limp cock. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Max exclaimed. “Let me pull my pants up!”

Ash just laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tongue exploring the intricacies of everything that was Max. Ash’s mouth tasted of pleasure and tasted of yearning, and tasted of something musky, almost bitter. Max pulled back at the realization. Ash tasted of Max.

“See?” Ash whispered. “Fantastic.”

Then he raised a single hand, let it fall gently down the side of Max’s face, caressing and sweet, as though he were trying to frame a memory within his mind, as though he were terrified of forgetting this moment. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The night buzzer shot through the air, and the lights went out in perfect synchrony. Ash stood up, and backed away, disappearing into the thick black of their shared cell.


End file.
